The Hero and The Princess
by Lovedrr
Summary: Romanogers "3 Part Valentine's Day Special!" After dancing around their unrequited feelings for one another for several months, a romantic special occasion begins a new romance between Steve&Natasha... Rating changing to M in Chapter 3.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.

Note: The image can be viewed on my tumblr Lovedrr tagged 'pic-fics' post #110037095570.

* * *

**The Hero and The Princess**

* * *

February 14th

02:14 p.m.

Little Ukraine, New York

The text on her phone simply read:

'_Information exchange meeting alert._

_Coordinates imminent._

_Meet at 7._'

It was the message which would change her life …

* * *

February 14th

7:00 p.m.

New York, New York

Evansson Theater

The size of the crowd attending the small Valentine's Day festival was nearly perfect. It was large enough that a couple could remain conspicuous, but not so dense that one would bump into another person with every step. There were more attendees than had been anticipated for the festival, and some of the activity involved many last minute alterations being moved, added and adjusted.

Situated on a walkway overlooking the city streets, Steven "The Captain" Rogers rested casually on the railing as he stared thoughtfully out at the lights below him.

Sometimes, even the greatest leaders in history doubt themselves. Steve found himself wondering if he had done the right thing concerning the spy. Perhaps in trying to draw her closer in, he may have inadvertently pushed her away.

As leader of The Avengers, Steve had taken it upon himself to try to form them into more of a team after the battle of New York. Once a month, he would contact each of them and have a meeting. Initially, he purposed them under the guise of exchanging information, but everyone knew very well that with the tech at their disposal, all info could be transferred electronically. Still, all of them also knew that everything The Captain did was for the best for everyone, and they readily agreed to meet each month.

The meetings with Natasha had become somewhat different than with the others. After meeting at the old cemetery and a few parks, they had started meeting at his malt shop, then to have dinner together at restaurants, and last month they had met at an old movie theater and even stayed to enjoy the war documentary together.

The fact that the two of them had grown closer was undeniable, but he wondered if she would shy away from meeting with him on this particular day of the year. He knew that she was single and unattached, but she might not want to see him tonight. All he wanted to do was to spend a special evening with her and uplift her spirits for a short time.

Waiting patiently on the walkway, Steve looked at his watch and lowered his head with a sigh.

Maybe this meeting was a little too much like a date.

* * *

Slowly drawing near the walkway high above the city block, Natasha "The Black Widow" Romanoff again wondered if she should have come to this festival tonight.

Thinking of Steve, she didn't deny to herself that she wanted to see him. These little monthly meetings of his had become highlights in her lonely life between her personal missions of seeking out the remnants of The Red Room. However, seeing him on this specific night wasn't exactly conducive to her plan of keeping distance between the two of them. Even though she had no difficulty resisting men, which she had been doing effectively for years, Steven Grant Rogers was the one anomaly for her among the male species. He seemed to have an uncanny ability to make her feel things foreign to her. This man was special to her, and that fact made her wary of him.

When she had received his message to meet, the vigilant spy had researched all the information on the date and location, as The Captain had known she would. It was obvious that he was taking her out for Valentine's Day evening. Checking out the coordinates he'd sent in his second text had revealed a small park which was holding a festival for the occasion featuring a ballet company with which she was very familiar. The dress code was upscale and elegant, and as she read more about the Russian centric festival, she couldn't help but be impressed with his taste.

The reserved spy couldn't deny that she had immensely enjoyed staying to watch the war documentary with him at the small play house they had met at last month. Being with him like that had felt a lot like a date, and it had been far more pleasurable for her than she cared to admit to herself. Seeing him on this particular night of the year was probably a bad idea, she had thought continuously as she'd been getting dressed for their monthly "meeting."

As she caught sight of him of waiting outside on the open air walkway, all her inhibitions faded. They were replaced by a calm desire for his company and presence near her. Not hesitating a moment longer, she stepped through the sliding glass doors to join him.

"I never did make it to the Smithsonian. Are the fossils still kept on ice?" the snarky spy called to him.

Steve lowered his head and laughed heartily. As detached as Natasha was with most people on the outside, her attempts at wit and humor could be disarming, at least to him. She always seemed to get the best of him in their verbal exchanges.

"That's hilarious," he answered, straightening his suit as he turned around to greet her.

Natasha Romanoff was walking along the walkway directly toward him, and she was a breathtaking sight. Her hair was up in a subtle bun with a few gorgeous red strands hanging down to frame her lovely face, and her lipstick matched her dress to perfection. She wore a long gently flowing bright red dress, which hung off her shoulders and tapered down to her slim waist and hips. It flowed outward over her legs, just barely allowing tantalizing glimpses of the five inch ankle strap red high heel classic pumps which adorned her feet. A thin transparent red shawl covered her neck and shoulders and hung over her upper arms with a near sensual allure. The picture she presented was the epitome of class and elegance.

Steve's mouth dropped open involuntarily. His lips were suddenly dry, and there didn't seem to be any air to breathe around him. Strangely, his amazed mind retreated into tactical evaluation. Looking at Natasha Romanoff like this, he felt a quick jolt of sadness for any of the marks she had been ordered to dispatch in the past. With her looking like this, those poor bastards would have been completely disarmed and absolutely defenseless against her. No red blooded man alive was immune to her feminine wiles… including himself. He had seen her look stunning before, but there was just something more striking about her in this moment.

Natasha was very fond of Steve's stunned speechlessness. That had been the exact reaction she had been going for. The spy knew that she could make herself attractive to men, but she didn't want to dwell on the fact that she had taken extra special care in her makeup and attire for this specific man on this particular night. Following this train of thought would reveal too much of her inner feelings for him.

"Are those for me?" she asked demurely, glancing down at his hands.

"Oh! Yeah! Yes, they are," Steve said quickly, fumbling around to hold up the dozen red roses he'd brought for her. "There were tons of these laying around so I just thought I'd grab some for you," he said as he placed them in her hands.

"Very astute, Soldier," she said kindly.

"May I have this dance?" Steve said as he held out his forearm for her to slip her arm across, the two of them now presenting the classic picture of the gentleman and his lady.

"With pleasure," she replied cordially.

"What's been going on?" asked Steve, allowing his concern for her to show through.

"None of the leads I told you about last month have turned up anything," she answered. "There doesn't seem to be much information out there to find, and that's a good thing. Have you heard anything about where he might be?"

"Not a single lead. It seems that The Winter Soldier can be almost as elusive as you. How long are you in town this time?"

"I leave for Kiev next week. Your timing is excellent as always. You picked quite a day for this meeting."

"Coincidence," the soldier said with his boyish charm. "Pure coincidence."

"You're still a terrible liar," the spy smiled genuinely.

"Come on," he urged her with a grin. "We don't have long until the performance starts."

"You know, it's okay if you don't feel like staying for this, Steve," she said quickly, suddenly rethinking this entire night and his close proximity to her. "We could just exchange projected schedules and call it a night. Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah. It'll be fun."

The pedestrian traffic increased as they neared the official festival convention center. As they drew closer to the pavilion, Natasha stared up at the lighted billboard. Although she had researched the location and events for the evening when she had first gotten his message, her heart still fluttered at the sight.

The sign read:

"_Russian Ballet - In Town - One Night Only_"

Natasha thoughtfully looked down at the roses in her hand. Steve probably had no idea how much this particular ballet company meant to her, and he had hit on just the perfect evening, certainly without even actually trying.

As they made their way inside the performance auditorium, Natasha couldn't help but enjoy the extra special attention Steve lavished her with on this holiday evening. He held her hand every step they took together. He kept her arms tucked under his own in a southern gentleman style as if he was worried she might fall, despite her perfect balance in her high heels. He was almost overly protective of her, even though he was fully aware of the fact that she could kill five men with her bare hands even wearing this dress and these shoes.

The sexy spy had made certain to wear the highest pair of heels that she kept in her arsenal this evening. She had tried to tell herself that it wasn't for the purpose of closing the gap in their height difference… should that become necessary… which it wouldn't, of course… but just in case. When you lie to so many people on a repetitive basis, one can make the mistake of even getting good at lying to themselves.

As they walked up the grand staircase to their prime balcony seating, Steve had even taken the extra step of holding her left forearm in his left hand while his right arm wrapped around her waist and stayed there. His touch felt so warm, so warm down to the depths of her soul, and she found herself holding her roses in her left hand as she placed her right hand over his to hold it against her. He escorted her like this all the way until they reached their private seating booth.

The lovely spy found herself humbled by his old fashioned attention. He was so attentive to her that it was disarming. He had obviously paid a lot for these seats, as the attendants were instantly on hand to see to their every desire. She knew that Steve would never hurt for money with the back pay he had received from the military, but she was still struck by the fact that he had arranged all this just for her. From any other man, she would not even have tolerated this kind of overly concerned hovering, but with Steve, it felt comforting like a warm blanket. He was a man, but to her, he was as different from any other man she had ever known in her life as if he were an alien. He was so right. Too right.

Steve and Natasha settled into their seats just as the lights in the auditorium began to dim and the crowd gave an introductory applause to the ballet company.

The performance was a mastery of art and workmanship. The Black Widow well understood every movement, every octave and every element of the dance. She marveled at each second of it. The story was captivating and enthralling, telling of a lonely young woman growing up and having to live on the streets until she was found to have an aptitude for ballet, going on to become the world's leading ballerina. It was an extrapolation of the real life story of the company's star phenom ballerina Natvanya Roskolov. The performance was a truly tremendous spectacle.

In the stirring finale of the play, Natasha's vision became blurred. It took her a moment to realize that tears had welled in her eyes. As soon as the first one slipped out onto her cheek and she raised a hand to wipe it away, Steve's fingers were already collecting it. They smiled to each other tenderly.

After the exquisite performance, the crowd gave a standing ovation. Steve and Natasha stood and joined them, but she was too stricken with emotion to clap heartily. As always, Steve noticed everything about her, and she caught him watching her intently. She had always found his attentiveness to her somewhat unnerving, as it directly contradicted her efforts to keep him at arm's length, constantly softening and opening her heart to him in ways she had never experienced.

"I have a surprise for you," he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

As the curtains closed and the audience began to disperse, the soldier again hooked the spy's arm around his own and started to draw her down through the crowd toward the stage. They neared the doorway leading to the stage, and Natasha looked up at Steve in surprise, a deep glow hidden within the depths of her eyes.

"Backstage passes," he told her as a kind faced usher opened the door for them.

Steve took a moment to show the usher their ticket designation allowing the entry, and then they were walking across the brightly lit stage toward its center. There were other civilians on the stage with the performers, some relatives, some friends, and a select few others also with backstage passes. A tall man with a graceful stride quickly made his way over to them.

"Mr. Rogers," he greeted with a firm handshake and a thick Russian accent. "I am Master Paulkin. I asked to be informed of your arrival. Your sizable donation to tonight's performance did not go unnoticed by my accountants. My performers and I wanted to thank you personally."

"That's exceedingly kind of you, Master Paulkin," Steve responded with the kind humility which made the world love him. "However, I actually made the donation on behalf of one of my associates. I believe you have a particular benefactor that has been supporting your ballet company for the last seven years. This is a colleague of mine, and I'm here to extend best wishes to you."

"Oh my," Master Paulkin's face lit up with a nearly glowing smile. "I… I have so long awaited this moment. We have received money, but never a word from our benefactor. Very few people know about this, so I know you are genuine in what you say. Wait, please!"

He called loudly and happily to his performers on the stage, and quickly the conversation died down as the entire company began to walk over to the center of the stage. All of them, from the top ballet experts to the trainers to the lighting specialists all began to make their way over to Steve and Natasha. Steve smiled as Natasha looked around them with a slight apprehension in her eyes. She was not accustomed to having so much attention focused on her.

"This couple is here to represent our mysterious benefactor!" Master Paulkin announced loudly in english. "Please! Show them our appreciation so they can take it back to… "

His words were drowned out by the massive applause and shouting which erupted from the performers. Their elation seemed almost infinite. Some of them were suddenly tearful in their immense joy. A few of them stepped over to vigorously embrace Steve while some of them hugged Natasha awkwardly.

"Please! Please! Give them space!" Master Paulkin finally had to calm them down. "Let us speak a moment in private so I may share with them our story."

The company began to disperse somewhat reluctantly, and Master Paulkin led them over toward a corner away from the center of the stage.

"You must understand," he began quietly in his accented english. "We are not the, how do you say, 'premier,' performance company. We chose not to sell out to the government of our land and allow agents into our midst to carry out missions as we tour all over the world, using us a disguise. We are dirt poor, and many of us would be… living on the streets… or worse… if not for the funding your friend provided. We are indeed among some of the most talented performers in our country, but ability means little in a world dominated by commerce," he said as he stared intently at them, desperate to convey the depth of his heart. Then, he raised his voice. "Natvanya! Natvanya!" he called loudly. "Come here, Natvanya!"

Almost instantly, a little wisp of a girl, thin and almost frail, appeared at his side. Steve immediately recognized her as the young girl which had flawlessly performed the part of the lead character. From a distance, she had appeared much more virile. Yet, now seeing her up close, her impoverished state was so evident that it immediately became surprising that she was able to perform so excellently.

Steve couldn't stop staring at the little girl. The color of her hair was a bright shade of fiery auburn red. She was almost the perfect picture… of a young Natalia Alianovna Romanova.

"This is… ," Master Paulkin began pridefully.

"Natvanya Illyana Roskolov," Natasha finished for him. "The child prodigy. Known as a phenom around the world," she said with a gentle smile down at the child, her words obviously intended to lift the little girl. "She finished first in her class in pre-training and mid-training, was promoted to train with the top grade in her beginner's study, and has outshown other ballet performers over ten years her senior all over the world." She paused as she stared down at the child. "You are a very good girl, Natvanya," she said in a heartfelt whisper.

As the master ballet instructor was distracted by the praise of his brightest jewel, Steve focused on Natasha. Steve could tell that the words she had spoken to the young Natvanya… were words the little Natalia had longed to hear. No one had ever told her that she was good in her formative years, the years when she needed the adoration of a parent to guide her. No one had ever given her warm words. No one had been there. No, Natalia had been left out in the cold.

In her life now, she did what she could to help some of those in need, even anonymously, not wanting others to suffer her fate. In this moment, he found himself wondering if there were any tears hidden behind the practiced mask she used to cover her emotions.

"Now, little Natvanya," Natasha continued as she leaned down toward the little girl. "I want you to… "

Her words were interrupted as the small angel suddenly leaped forward with the speed of a cat and snapped her thin arms around Natasha's neck. She held on for dear life in a firm grip, her tiny feet almost dangling off the floor in her zeal. Natasha's arms hesitated, hanging in the air around the small doll of a child… and then, she slowly hugged her back.

For Natasha, there was suddenly no sound in the room around her.

"You must understand," Master Paulkin whispered to Steve, not wanting to disturb the beautiful moment taking place before his eyes. "Little Natvanya… had been on the streets before she was found. She had been abused. She was lost. She would certainly have ended up dead in a gutter somewhere. Then, when she was found, it was discovered that she was something of a savant."

"Gifted in ballet?" Steve followed in a whisper.

"Extremely. But, deficient in other ways. She will need care for most of her life. And also, help overcoming her trauma. If not for our benefactor, she certainly would have perished," he said near tears.

"I understand," said Steve, consoling the master instructor.

Natasha held little Natvanya tighter. The child did the same, squeezing with all her might. Natvanya began to cry. Natasha held back her tears.

"So!" Master Paulkin said loudly to regain himself. "I… I am not usually so emotional in front of my performers. I must remain the tough father figure, you know?" he smiled.

"They are lucky to have you," Steve answered with a kind smile which didn't reach his eyes. "Many of us grew up with no father at all."

"Tell our benefactor… thank you, from the depths of my soul," Master Paulkin said as he pulled Steve into a hug.

"Consider it done," whispered Steve, staring over at Natasha in her quietly solemn moment.

Natasha looked up at Steve, and he saw the unshed tears hidden within the depths of her eyes. This moment had touched her more deeply than she ever could have imagined. The inquisitive soldier had indeed somehow known that she had been financially supporting this ballet company for years. Although she would probably never have taken this step, she was grateful to him for leading her to this moment.

She could see that Steve's eyes were full of pride in her, admiring her giving of herself to these people in need. The emotions in his eyes and the feelings from the little angel in her arms were almost overwhelming. The spy allowed a gentle smile to grace her lips as she humbly closed her eyes.

The spy could only barely comprehend the effect this man had upon her. His orchestrating this moment touched her on a level so deep inside that she wasn't yet able to fully process it. In the midst of this gentle solemn moment, her mind wondered if his steps this evening were those of a friend, or a partner, or perhaps something more…


	2. Chapter 2

Minutes later, Steve and Natasha were walking through the festival crowd in a comfortable silence, arm in arm, and for a long while, the spy found herself simply soaking up the tranquility. Moments of true peace and serenity were very rare in their lives, and she was again thankful to him for another gift this evening. He led the way, and she followed along smoothly, enjoying the lights and sounds and life around her. Although she was struggling somewhat in trying to live a normal life, the spy had found a way to enjoy watching the breaths of life of those around her. It reminded her of the reasons why she so often risked her life to protect them.

In the middle of her wistful thoughts, Natasha glanced up ahead as Steve slowed them down. The sign outside the small street tavern caught her attention immediately.

'_The Czar - Authentic Russian Cuisine_'

"This looks good," Natasha said with a smile.

"I did some checking and reviews say this is one of the best places at the festival. I thought you could tell us if it is authentic or not."

"Do you mind if we get take out?" the spy said thoughtfully. "This night air is nice."

"Sounds good."

"I'll order for us," she said as the polite gentleman opened the restaurant door for her and they stepped inside. "I know a couple of native cuisines that are as good as your malt shake."

At the take out counter, Steve smiled as his Russian lady ordered a hearty meal, double of everything just for him. He trusted her judgement for the entrees, simply handing his credit card to the servers with a compliant nod. Carrying their sizable dinner bag and a bottle of a specially chosen vintage wine, the couple made their way back out into the festive evening atmosphere. After just a few short steps, a lovely ornate carriage drawn by two steed horses pulled up alongside them as an energetic voice called out to them.

"O Capitain! My Capitain! Capitain Rogers? What a joy!" the carriage driver yelled with jubilation. "May I have this honor?"

"That's not necessary," Steve smiled up at the driver. "We're fine. Thank you. We can walk."

"Please, Capitain," the jovial driver urged. "It is free. My family has home in this country because of your sacrifice. I can tell my wife and children that I had you in my carriage this evening. Even, please accept for your lovely lady here with you."

"Okay," The Captain relented. "The honor is ours."

"Little Ukraine, please," said Natasha. "Thank you."

"My pleasure!" the driver nearly shrieked.

The horses paused as the driver drew back on the reins. Steve opened the door of the carriage and extended his hand. With perfect poise and class, the spy took his hand and stepped up into the comfortable softly padded interior and waited for Steve to join her. The carriage began to move with excitement and vigor almost before Steve had closed the door.

The two of them smiled to each other as he sat down. The seats were tailor made with the softest fabric. They were designed to push the two passengers on each side toward one another, and Steve and Natasha laid back with their hips touching in the intimate setting. As the small stagecoach moved, the open windows on either side allowed the spicy smells of the festival to filter in through the space.

"It's a nice evening," said Natasha as she gazed out at the street beside them. "I hope it doesn't get cold tonight."

"I recently did some reading on an old term Russian agents used a long time ago," Steve said strongly. "It was called being out in the cold."

"Yeah, I know the saying," the spy answered as she turned to him. "It was a very bad situation to fall into. The term applied to agents that had gone rogue, usually while on a deep cover mission. If the mission was classified deep enough, sometimes only the agent's handler would know about the operation. If the handler was lost or killed, that agent then had no contact at the department that knew who they were. Departments and politics always complicated things even worse."

"Complicated?" he asked.

"There were some missions in which one department was investigating another, and it would end up being a situation in which one side wanted the agent to make it back in, but another side would want to make sure that the agent never saw the light of day again."

"Did any of the agents make it back in?"

"Some did," she answered. "It would almost always require a third party independent handler. That person would have to stick out their neck and risk their life to safely bring in the rogue agent. That… didn't happen very often. I knew a few… that got… lost… out there," she said with a deep sadness in her eyes.

"Don't you think it's time you came in from the cold?" the soldier asked boldly.

"What?" Natasha said as she looked up at him in surprise.

Then, his deeper meaning struck her, and the realization humbled her into silence. He was right. She was out in the cold. Not on a mission, but in her entire life. She always had been.

"I wouldn't… know how to come back in," the spy said as she turned to gaze out at the darkness of the night.

"I'll be your independent handler," Steve said firmly.

Natasha turned to stare at him with wide eyes. She didn't know what he was saying, and she couldn't comprehend exactly what he was asking. It took her another moment before she spoke.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying together," he answered. "I've thought about this before. Nothing you're not comfortable with. It would be simple. Where the world finds The Captain, it would find The Black Widow also. Not that complicated."

Natasha gazed at him for a long moment. Her eyes became slightly glossy, and there was an unreadable emotion hidden within their depths. Perhaps a ray of… hope.

"Is that who you want me to be?" Natasha whispered intimately.

"How about a partner?" Steve whispered quietly.

She stared. Then turned away.

"Wrong business, Rogers."

* * *

February 14th

10:14 p.m.

Little Ukraine, New York

The apartment building was quiet at this time of the evening. It didn't house a lot of tenants, and there was usually very little commotion inside its walls. On this particular night, a peculiar quiet anticipation seemed to hang in the air just for the two occupants making their way down the small hallway.

Still lost in her thoughts, Natasha had kept a comfortable silence with the soldier for the rest of their trip. It had almost seemed like familiar ground between them, as the carriage ride had been similar to their van ride while on their odyssey against Hydra. Despite her feigned detachment, she simply couldn't get his words out of her mind no matter how hard she tried.

The spy found herself wrestling with her emotions. If she were to ever be a… partner… with a man… like Steve… she would want it to last forever. In her mind, nothing lasts forever.

Steve wasn't bothered by the easy quiet he and Natasha could share. Working with her for years, he had become easily accustomed to her intermittent distance and reserve. He could see that she was deep in thought, and he knew that she was contemplating his words.

The soldier figured that the evening was drawing to a close, and he knew that he would miss her presence. For him, this entire night had been about trying to give this woman a glimpse of how much she meant to him. He had known that she would enjoy the ballet performance, and he wanted to remind her of that joyful moment before he let her go.

"What were you thinking about as you watched the performance?" asked Steve.

"I was thinking about the art itself and my practices," she answered in a thoughtful voice. "Steve, you're an artist and I know you draw, right?"

"Oh, yes, whenever I can," he answered. "I haven't done that in a while, though. Why do you ask?"

"Ballet is an art form. It's a stylistic expression. It's all of that," she told him intensely. "But most times, I feel like… like my body is out of sync with my soul. It just doesn't… come out right. I thought maybe a fellow artist might understand."

"I do. Tell me more about what you felt."

"I… I've never really found out if the ballet in my past was real or another programmed memory. That… haunts me. I know all the movements in my mind, but my body doesn't perform them like it knows them. It's kind of hard to explain."

"Actually, because I'm an artist, I do know exactly what you're talking about," he said as they neared her apartment door. "Sculptors used to talk about this sort of thing. When the clay wasn't acting right, or an arm fell off of the figure or something like that. They learned to incorporate the imperfections. That's why you see some of those famous sculptures with a missing arm and stuff like that."

"What's it like for you?" she asked curiously.

"For me, it's when my hand is drawing, but the picture isn't coming out like I envisioned it in my mind. It will seem as if I'm doing everything right, but the finished product will just not be what I intended."

"That's exactly… what it's like," whispered Natasha as they reached her apartment and she turned to face him. "You said you haven't done that in a long time?"

"It's been a while."

"Do you want to practice?"


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Mature Content Warning. Rating changing to M in Chapter 3.

* * *

February 14th

10:30 p.m.

Little Ukraine, New York

Several minutes later, a gentle breeze blew into the apartment through the open balcony doors. There was a soft classical Russian melody filtering into the outer living room through elegant hidden speakers. The overhead lighting had been slightly dimmed and a few candles had been added in select locations to provide ambiance illumination.

For Steve, the room was perfect. He was sitting with his back to the balcony, allowing the moonlight shining down to provide a natural glowing element to the glossy poster board resting in his lap. Having hung his dinner jacket on the back of a living room chair, his tie and clothing had been loosened to try to help him relax. He had been able to find some old markers in one of the drawers, and although they were not the best art utensils for portraits, he would find a way to make it work. For some reason, he found himself feeling slightly nervous, and he breathed a heavy sigh as he stretched his fingers to prepare.

A few moments later, the bedroom door opened. Dressed in beautifully elegant black and red ballet attire, Natasha didn't look at him as she gracefully glided to the center of the room. Her visage was focused and intense. Facing away from him, the spy dropped into a seated cross legged pose.

The soldier noticed the dip in the music pervading the room. The classical piece had just ended and was flowing with only a few string instruments into another segment. Steve smiled at the brilliance of the spy. When they had walked into the living room and had she started the music, she had known precisely how long it would take for her to change and prepare. Although almost ten minutes had passed, her timing was flawless. With intense anticipation, he held his pen at the ready.

Suddenly, there was a strong upturn in the orchestra, and the ballerina rose with it. She assumed a strong stance and posture, perfectly in accordance with the rhythm of the music. Then, she began an elegant gentle sway as the melody morphed into a flowing symphony.

With the moonlight behind him, the artist began to work feverishly. His hand moved all over his canvas at a rapid pace, capturing as much of the mosaic in front of him as humanly possible. He looked down at the paper intermittently, but his eyes stayed focused on the lovely performer.

Slowly, his keen vision began to take notice of the soul war taking place before him. Natasha swung into a practiced spin before executing a small leap then lifting onto her toes. With her mouth, she was murmuring to herself, and he recognized the names of the ballet movements and numbers. She was attempting to perform, and she was trying too hard.

"It's a dance, not a recital," The Captain whispered in a gentle voice, knowing that her enhanced senses would catch it over the music. "Stop fighting with it."

Natasha heard his whisper clearly. Just the bass of his voice seemed to have a calming effect on her. In her routine, she missed a step and held on her next pose, letting his perceptive words sink into her spirit. Then, she resumed, with even more fervor this time.

On the canvas, Steve's hand stopped moving. It wasn't happening. Looking through the eyes of love, he could clearly see Natasha's struggle, and he knew what was wrong.

The spy wasn't letting the performance inside. The music wasn't a part of her. She wasn't becoming the ballet.

Leaning forward in his chair, Steve's soothing voice was barely above a whisper.

"There is no dance. You are the dance. Become one with it."

Natasha spun upward into a pirouette, and turned toward him. She paused. Their eyes met.

A long moment lingered between them.

Then, Natasha closed her eyes. Using his strength, she let go, and in her mind became The Ballerina.

She spun smoothly to her right in a series of tip toe spins, eventually finding the rhythm of the music once again. Yet, this time, she wasn't listening to it. She began to feel it.

The difference was evident.

Natasha no longer told her physique what to do. She allowed her body to execute the visions in her mind. There was no separation between her thoughts and movements. It was the perfect dichotomy of being completely in control and simultaneously retaining no control. A higher level had opened up to her.

Steve stared openly at the sight of the lovely ballerina in front of him. Natasha was gone. He understood that he was now seeing Natalia exposed for the first time, the young woman underneath the tough exterior.

She was beautiful, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her.

The ballerina's movements were now sweeping, flowing and graceful, encompassing her entire being. She spun and slid over a wider area of the room, feeling the boundaries around her and navigating them effortlessly. When she took to the air, she no longer jumped, but instead slid into it as if a part of it, descending seamlessly back into another exquisite expression.

Only when she spun three times drawing near to him, did he finally snap out of his reverie of admiration. She purposefully created a slight wind to ruffle his papers, making him blink his eyes and shake his head. With a gleam in her eye which was from the depths of her soul, she smiled to him and spun completely around his chair in perfect precision. Then, she effortlessly floated back across the room to its center.

The soldier simply let his hand move. It would be impossible to capture all of the grandeur in front of him, but he hoped to catch at least some of its essence. His hand almost became a blur over the canvas.

The music quietly faded out into silence. The ballerina kept dancing. This new joy in her heart was deafening.

The sound of the artist's pen flowing over his work seemed loud for several more seconds, until the quiet was broken by the snapping of the utensil.

At that exact moment, the ballerina smoothly dropped to the floor, executing her final pirouette with an ease of precision.

The room was still and quiet around the two of them.

Natasha sat on the floor, back in the same cross legged position from which she had started her ballet, now breathing hard with her auburn hair having fallen over to cover her face. She held still, feeling the moment, enjoying the sensation, and realizing what had been the difference for her.

The difference… was Steve.

With eyes slightly blurred from exertion, Natasha looked up at him. As their eyes met, Steve raised his hands.

Three small claps.

Staring into her eyes, Steve was so overcome with admiration, amazement and enamor that it was all he could muster at that moment. It had truly been a soul stirring display.

To her, the sound of his three claps had been more applause than that of a deafening congregation. She could see his feelings in his eyes. It lifted her with a praise unlike any she had ever felt before in her life.

"I want to see it," said Natasha firmly, slowly regaining herself as she stood to her feet.

"What?" replied Steve, jarred out of his focus on her by the sound of her voice.

"I said I want to see it," she told him again as she stepped toward him.

"Well, I don't know about that," said the soldier, quickly standing to his feet and stepping around her. He turned to face her so that she couldn't see the canvas in his hands. "Things work a little differently in the art world, Nat. We… uhhh, need time to touch up the portraits before viewing and stuff like that," he said as he carefully backed away from her.

Natasha stared at the bashful soldier incredulously. Before her very eyes, it seemed as if she had watched this powerful soldier of a man, this strong warrior which she had seen face entire armies, this wise leader that had just given her the greatest gift of her entire life, morph from this six foot adonis to the cute young boy she had seen photographs of in his file. It was so humorous that she couldn't hold back her smile.

Well, she had just felt young and small when she had been in the midst of her performance, and he had been with her. Being exposed and open on such an… intimate… level could make a person feel young… like a child.

'_Love is for children_,' her own words echoed in her mind.

"Steve," she called to him in her sweet smoky voice as she caught his forearm. "Sit with me."

She pulled him down onto the sofa beside them to face her, not yet making a move for the canvas.

"Okay," he said with his boyish charm.

"Show me," Natasha whispered.

With a deep heavy sigh, the soldier relented. After another moment of hesitation, he turned the canvas around. The spy reached for it quickly, intending to snatch it out of his hand before he could change his mind.

Her fingers froze in the air. Her hand withdrew slightly, then stayed still. She stopped breathing.

The simple portrait had come out as more of a mural or a mosaic, in her honor. The gloss of the canvas seemed to make the entire image shine off of the paper, almost as if it were a three dimensional image. The flat surface was somehow full of life and energy and movement.

In the center of it was her cross legged pose, and it had bold edges highlighting it to bring it forward. The background was lighter, and filled with various poses and positions of her outstretched forms, her arms extended, her legs swinging, her body floating. It was literally a dance captured on paper. Only a truly skilled artisan could be capable of such a feat.

To Natasha's eyes, it was a masterpiece. Never before had she seen herself with such life and vibrance. In her own eyes, she had never looked so beautiful.

"Well, what do you think?" the soldier asked shyly.

Before she could realize what she was doing, Natasha grabbed the canvas and leaned forward to kiss Steve on his lips. The touch was warm, heady and forceful, and it immediately opened the door upon years of hidden passion between them.

The canvas dropped to the sofa beside them.

The rest of the night passed in a dazed passion filled haze of moments, images and sensations for the two lovers…

… Natasha kissing Steve, pulling him with her up from the sofa, the two of them unable to part…

… Steve lifting Natasha into his arms, carrying her toward the bedroom…

… both of them lying down on top of her bed, both feeling that every second they had to part to remove their clothes was a moment too long…

… Natasha pushing Steve's shirt off over his shoulders, her fingers grazing over a manly torso more perfect than she had ever even imagined…

… the soldier, undressing her slowly, literally kissing every inch of her skin that he exposed, pulling her dress down off over her legs…

… Natasha pushing Steve over onto his back, straddling him…

… foreheads leaning against one another as she joined their bodies for the first time, the sensations overwhelming…

… slow tender lovemaking, giving way to hot and heavy heated passion, building toward a blazing crescendo…

… nearly unintelligible words in Russian, slipping from her lips in a haze of desire…

… the super soldier, slowing down, waiting for the spy's assurances that her serum would keep his enhanced strength from hurting her…

… the spy, passionately drawing him back to her with vigorous motion, wanting him to not hold back, desperate to have all of him…

… experiencing their first climax together, a blisteringly blinding blissful release of years of restrained sensual desire for one another…

… collapsing onto their sides in ecstasy, still kissing, softly caressing, unable to let go…

… holding each other close tenderly…

… dozing…

… waking…

… with him still inside her…

… a virgin sensation for Natasha, overwhelming with her defenses down, her entire being open and laid bare for the first time…

… in this moment of her greatest vulnerability, Steve making her feel more cherished and loved than ever before in her life, kissing her tenderly all over her face…

… their spark of passion, reignited with warm searing fervor…

… Steve holding Natasha underneath him, making love to her, slowly, gently, lovingly…

… their bodies barely moving, yet experiencing sensations piercing them to their very souls…

… another mutual release together, gentle this time, washing over them like a wave, the two of them holding each other above the tidal current in their embrace, kissing through the soft moans of their climax…

… a sweet tender afterglow, filled with warm kisses, soft caresses, and gentle touches…

… the spy, whispering for a bath…

… the soldier, carrying her in his arms again …

… bathing together, the basin clouded with steam around them, as they once again became steamy…

… two hearts, experiencing the peace that only a true love can bring…

… Their senses returned to them in the midst of the warm water, gathering some semblance of themselves after sharing so much together. Both of them knew that it was only a brief respite, as the feelings between them were far from being sated, if they indeed ever would be, and they would have to have one another again soon. After they rinsed off and prepared to get out of their long extended relaxing bath, Steve again picked Natasha up in his arms to whisper sweetly in her ear.

"I think I need more practice."

"Everybody needs practice."

* * *

February 15th

07:14 a.m.

LIttle Ukraine, New York

As the sunrise began to shine over the horizon on the morning after Valentine's Day, the sky seemed a little brighter than usual. There was a gleam in the clouds with the rays of the sun reflecting off the beautiful skyline. The precipitation in the air almost had a gentle sparkle to it, like lights falling through the atmosphere.

Standing out on her balcony in her satin black bathrobe with red trim edges, Natasha watched the sun in a quiet contemplative mood. Wind blew gently across the open space, softly blowing her auburn hair across her eyes in its wake.

She felt as if her life had changed. It was initially difficult for her to identify her emotions, because she was so often out of touch with them. She now felt different somehow.

It seemed as if she were a princess in one of the fantasy novels or romance movies she always adored. As a Russian woman, she had always loved romance. Last night with Steve had been… beyond perfect. Things like this just didn't happen in her life. All of this was too good to be true.

"Can I ask you something?" the whisper of Steve's voice rumbled in her ear as his muscular arms wrapped around her slim waist from behind. "You don't have to answer it, but if you don't answer it, that's kind of like answering it, though."

"What?" asked Natasha with a grin as she remembered her own words, holding his arms more tightly around her.

"Did you do anything fun on Valentine's Day?"

The Beginning…


End file.
